[POV: Alex]
As I stepped out of Chronos, the heavy New York rain didn't feel cold anymore. It felt refreshing, like a baptism. Each heavy droplet hitting my wine-stained face was a reminder: the old Alex was dead. The boy who begged for extra shifts and skipped meals to buy a $20 anniversary gift was gone.
Buzz. [Current Balance: $1,350,000,000.00]
Buzz. [Current Balance: $1,450,000,000.00]
The phone in my pocket was vibrating so relentlessly it felt like a second heartbeat. A heartbeat made of cold, hard digital gold. Most people would be screaming in the streets, celebrating their luck. But as I stood on the sidewalk of Fifth Avenue, watching the wealthy elite scurry away from the rain into their taxis, a chilling realization hit me.
At this rate, I would have billions by the time I went to sleep. This wasn't just a win; it was an avalanche. If I didn't start moving, the sheer weight of this dead cash would attract predators—government agencies, tax hounds, or shadowy organizations that didn't like "new money" appearing out of thin air.
[Ding!] [Mission Triggered: The First Step of a Tycoon.] [Task: Spend $1 Billion in the next 60 minutes.] [Reward: System Level 3 Upgrade & 'The Eye of Discernment' (Allows user to see anyone's hidden potential and loyalty).] [Penalty for Failure: Reduction of extraction rate to $1 per second for an entire month.]
"One billion in an hour?" I whispered, a crazed, sharp laugh escaping my lips. The nearby pedestrians looked at me like I was a lunatic, but I didn't care. "Challenge accepted."
I looked across the street. Right there, shimmering under the high-intensity LED streetlights like a temple of speed, was the Lamborghini flagship showroom.
I crossed the road, my wet sneakers squeaking against the asphalt. My wine-stained hoodie was dripping, making me look like a vagrant who had wandered into the wrong neighborhood. As I pushed open the massive glass doors, the heavy scent of premium Nappa leather, carbon fiber, and high-octane gasoline filled my lungs. It was the scent of pure status.
"Sir, I'm afraid the showroom is closed for a private viewing," a soft, hesitant voice said immediately.
I turned to see a junior saleswoman. She looked exhausted, her eyes slightly red as if she had been crying in the breakroom. Her uniform was slightly oversized, and her nametag read: Elena. Unlike the vultures at the watch store, her gaze held no malice—only weariness.
"The door was unlocked," I said, checking the digital timer glowing in my vision. 55 minutes left. "I'm looking for something fast. The fastest thing you have."
From the back of the showroom, the sound of polished leather shoes clicking against the tile signaled the arrival of trouble. A senior salesman—tall, tanned, and wearing a suit that probably cost more than my father's house—strutted out. He took one look at my soaked hoodie and the mud I was tracking onto the pristine floor, and his face contorted in disgust.
"Elena, how many times do I have to tell you? Lock the door to keep the riff-raff out," the man barked. He turned to me, his voice dripping with condescension. "Get out, kid. We don't have any spare change, and the homeless shelter is three blocks down. You're getting water on the Aventadors."
"Mr. Harris, please... he's a customer—" Elena started, her voice trembling.
"He's a vagrancy risk!" Harris snapped. "Now, kid, leave before I call security. We are preparing for the arrival of Prince Faisal of the Saudi Royal Family. He's coming to inspect the Lamborghini Veneno Roadster. Do you even know what that is? Only nine were ever made. It's a $9.5 million masterpiece. You couldn't even afford to touch the dust on its tires."
I ignored the barking dog and looked directly at Elena. "The Veneno. Is it available for immediate purchase?"
The room went silent. Harris burst into a roar of laughter, clutching his stomach. "Immediate purchase? With what? Your food stamps?"
Elena whispered, "It... it is available, sir. But Mr. Harris is right, it's reserved for the Prince's inspection in ten minutes. He hasn't paid yet, but—"
"But nothing," I interrupted. I pulled out the black, heavy card the System had manifested in my pocket. "I'll take it. And I'll take every other car currently on this floor. The Aventadors, the Huracáns, all of them. Bundle them together."
Harris stopped laughing. His face turned a bright, ugly shade of red. "Every car? There are twelve Aventadors and six Huracáns here. The total inventory is over $30 million! You're wasting my time, you little—"
"Elena," I said, my voice dropping to a calm, dangerous level. "Bring me the terminal."
Something in my eyes stopped Harris mid-insult. It was the look of a man who didn't view money as an object, but as a weapon. Elena, moved by a strange instinct, grabbed the wireless card reader.
"Sir... the total, including the Veneno and the fleet... it's $39,800,000," she stammered.
"Swipe for $50 million," I said. "The extra $10.2 million is your personal commission, Elena. For treated me like a human being."
Harris choked on his own breath. "Ten million commission? You're delusional! Elena, don't waste the paper. If that card clears, I'll quit my job and eat my own tie!"
Elena's hands shook so much she almost dropped the device. She swiped the card. The little spinning icon on the screen seemed to take an eternity.
BEEP!
[TRANSACTION APPROVED: $50,000,000.00]
The silence that followed was absolute. Harris's jaw literally hung open. The receipt began to slowly unspool from the machine—the longest, most expensive receipt Elena had ever printed.
"Wh... what?" Harris stumbled forward, his hands trembling as he stared at the screen. "Approved? It's a glitch! It's a bank error! No one has that kind of limit!"
At that moment, the front doors swung open again. A group of men in dark suits and sunglasses entered, flanking a man in traditional Middle Eastern royal attire.
"Ah, Mr. Harris!" the Prince said, his voice booming with authority. "I am here for my Veneno. Is it gassed up and ready for me to drive?"
Harris turned pale. He looked at the Prince, then at me, then at the receipt in Elena's hand. He couldn't speak. He looked like he was having a stroke.
"I'm sorry, Your Highness," I said, stepping forward. I reached out and took the keys to the Veneno from Elena's tray. I tossed them into the air and caught them with a satisfying clack. "The Veneno is no longer for sale. I just bought it. Along with everything else in this building."
The Prince frowned, his security detail tensing up. "And who are you, young man?"
"The man who was faster than you," I replied, checking my phone.
Buzz. [Current Balance: $2,100,000,000.00]
"I still have $950 million to spend in 40 minutes," I muttered to myself, the thrill of the hunt finally kicking in. I turned to the stunned Elena. "Elena, who owns the luxury skyscraper next door? The 'Skyline Towers'?"
"That... that would be the Sterling Real Estate Group, sir," she whispered, her life forever changed by the commission now sitting in her account.
"Call them," I commanded. "Tell them Alex is coming. And tell them I don't want an apartment. I want the whole damn building."
I climbed into the $9.5 million Veneno. The engine roared to life behind my head—a predatory, mechanical scream that shook the very foundation of the showroom. I looked at Harris, who was staring at the floor in a trance.
"Harris," I said over the engine's roar. "Keep your tie. You'll need it when you're looking for a new job. Elena is the new General Manager of this branch. If you're still here when I get back, I'll buy the company just to fire you again."
With a screech of tires that left black streaks on the pristine tile, I launched the Lamborghini out into the rain-slicked streets of New York. The hunt for the next billion had just begun.